


Keep It Together

by MsChievous



Series: Loyalty and Sacrifice [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Foot mutilation, Gen, I have a shit ton of things planned, Injury, Might get moved up to Mature cause it gets brutal, Not quite Papa!Cor, Poor Prompto, Serious Injuries, Torture, Worried Noctis, but close, hand mutilation, he's gonna get fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-01-07 17:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12237267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsChievous/pseuds/MsChievous
Summary: A mix ofthesetwokinkmeme promptsPrompto gets a front-row look at the crazies who want to take down the Lucian royalty. He just hopes he can get out of there alive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY GOT AROUND TO THIS OH MY GOD. This was nagging at my brain for _months_ , but I finally got around to it, good _god_. There is a lot of pain. Be prepared.

Prompto  _ really  _ doesn’t want to run today. He’s no stranger to a lack of motivation, but this morning is something else. He wakes up at 3:30 from a nightmare about blood-red eyes, suffocating darkness, and a biting cold. Every time he tries to fall back asleep, he sees the glowing red eyes, and panic forces his eyes open again.

So he lies in bed, barely scraping together the courage to turn on his bedside lamp, and he grabs his phone to play King’s Knight. He hasn’t been playing for long before his eyes slide shut of their own accord.

Next thing he knows, he’s being jolted out of a (thankfully) dreamless sleep by his alarm clock, reminding him to get a move on.

He groans as he rolls out of bed and slides into his socks and shoes. He always sleeps in his workout clothes so he would have even less of an excuse to not go on his daily run, but right now, his motivation’s at his lowest since he first started being healthy.

It takes every scrap of willpower he has to not just shift his rest day over to today. He knows that once he gets going, he’ll be fine, and tomorrow, his  _ usual _ rest day, he’s gonna be too busy to do any running.

So he begrudgingly laces up his shoes, stuffs his phone in his pocket, and hurries out the door so he wouldn’t be late for school.

As he predicted, after the first ten minutes or so, Prompto fell into his rhythm, and everything started going smoothly. He waves at a man whose name he doesn’t know, but whose early encouragement, along with Luna’s letters, kept him going in the beginning when he was so ready to give up.

He is so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he barely hears the sniffling sounds coming from the alley to his right. He stops short and glances inside. A small figure is hunched against a dumpster, shoulders shaking with muffled sobs. 

“Hey, kid, is everything okay? D’you need help?” He draws cautiously closer, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Is there someone I can call to help you?”

He crouches down next to the kid and places a gentle hand on the kid’s shoulder. The kid barely looks to be over ten years old, with skinny arms and legs, and a mop of dark brown hair that hangs limply, obscuring his face from view.

The moment Prompto’s hand makes contact, the kid lashes out, slapping Prompto’s hand away and jumping to his feet with an angry, unintelligible shout. Prompto barely has time to worry that the kid has smacked Prompto’s phone out of his hand and into a garbage pile, where it would no doubt be smelling of rotting food for the next  _ month _ , before the kid starts running away.

After a millisecond to process everything, Prompto’s running after him with a cry of, “Wait!”, but before he can even exit the alleyway, a large white van, like one of those cars soccer moms always seem to use, cuts him off. If he had been a second quicker, he would have been run over. Thankfully, he manages to skid to a stop and backpedal quickly enough. 

Instead of continuing on its wild, probably  _ drunk _ path, the car skids to a stop as well. Prompto tries to squeeze around the edges of the car, but there’s no room. He slams a hand angrily onto the brick wall next to him as the passenger door opens and a brown-haired man with a beard hurries towards him.

“Hey, sir,” He says, eyes wide with worry, “Are you okay? We almost hit you back there, are you hurt? Do you need help?”

“No!” Anger makes Prompto snappy. “There was a kid there! He looked hurt or scared or something, so if you could move your damn car, that would help.”

The man furrows his brows. “A kid? Oh, I think I know who you’re talking about. He’s like, twelve? Rail-thin, and the worst haircut you could possibly imagine? Yay high?”

Relief floods through Prompto, “Yeah. You know him? Is he okay?”

The man laughs, an easy grin splitting his face into wrinkles. If he wasn’t so old, he might have been a bit attractive, but there’s something in his face that puts Prompto ever so slightly on alert.

“Yeah, I know the kid. Akilin’s his name. He’s an orphan. You’d be surprised what they’d do for a thousand gil.” The man leans closer to Prompto, who quickly backs away, trying to process what the man had said. 

“Wh-”

Before Prompto can finish his thought, the man swings his fist in a wide arc. Prompto’s quick reflexes save his cheekbone and probably his consciousness, but the glancing blow is strong enough to spin him around and disorient him. He tries to straighten himself, or call for help, or  _ both _ , but a knee forces itself into his stomach, and his breath escapes from his lungs. Prompto grabs at the knee as he falls, trying to drag its owner along with him, but then the foot lashes out, slamming him against a brick wall.

His head explodes in pain, and white-hot stars dance in front of his vision as he tries to stagger to his feet and  _ away _ . A hand grabs his hair, slamming his head back against the brick wall. The world fades away for a few seconds, and when it comes back into view, a rough sack is shoved over his head. A feeling of heart-pounding claustrophobia forces him to scramble away, but the hand has shifted to his shirtfront, slamming him once again against the wall. He tries to pull away, to yell and shout and make a noise, but his body just isn’t cooperating with him. All he can really do was shift around with moderate vigor, not nearly enough to throw the man straddling his thighs off of him.

His vision starts darkening around the edges as he lists to the side, dizzy from lightheadedness. Someone, probably the man holding his shirtfront, says something as Prompto’s consciousness fades, but the ringing in his ears is too loud for him to make it out, and soon, his world turns black.

 

* * *

 

Noctis glances at the clock, then at his phone. It’s already 8:13. In two minutes, homeroom would start. Usually, Prompto is here half an hour early like the chipper asshole he always is, but today he’s nowhere to be seen, and he hasn’t contacted Noctis to tell anyone that he’s sick.

He tries to swallow the knot in his throat as he taps Prompto’s contact info. The phone rings straight through to the voicemail. 

“Hey, Prompto. Just wondering if you’re okay. Y’know, alive. ‘Cause you’re not here. Uh, at school. So when you get this message just call me back. ‘Kay? Um, bye.”

As he presses the “end call” button, the warning bell rings, and he forces himself towards homeroom.

It isn’t like Prompto at all to be late to school. For as long as Noctis has known him, he has always been sitting at the side door, waiting for Noctis to arrive. It reminded him of a cute little puppy dog, always excited to see a friend.

He chuckles at the mental picture of Prompto as a dog, but swallows it as homeroom starts and he’s forced to pay attention. At the first possible moment, he would have to duck out of class and ask Ignis to check in. 

 

* * *

 

Ignis’ phone buzzes in his pocket. He glances at it quickly as he strides into the meeting hall, and is disappointed, but not surprised, to find that it’s a call from Noctis. With a heavy sigh, he answers it.

“Highness, you’re supposed to be in class.”

“It’s, uh, it’s my study hall.”

“Noct, your study hall isn’t until 1:40. Try again.”  
On the other end of the line, Noctis groans. “Fine, I told the teacher I had to go to the bathroom. But!” He cuts off Ignis before the advisor could get another word out. “But it’s important.”

Ignis sighs, allowing his charge to continue.

“Please, Ignis, can you just do me a favor?” Noctis asks plaintively. “It’s Prompto. He hasn’t shown up to school or texted me about it or anything, and I’m kinda worried about him. Can you just check on him to make sure everything’s okay?”

Ignis closes his eyes, opening them once he has his exasperation under control. “I am currently attending a very important meeting that you didn’t seem to wish to go to,  _ Highness _ ,” Ignis says pointedly, “but afterward, if there’s time, I will drop by to make sure there are no problems.”

“Thanks, Specs!”

“Certainly. Now, back to class, Noct. I’ll update you when the time comes to pick you up.” With that, Ignis hangs up. While his charge’s affection for his friends is admirable, it’s often a bit too much. This isn’t the first time Noctis has asked Ignis to check in on Prompto, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. More often than not, the hyperactive blond is simply sick with a head cold and just needs time to recover.

So that might have been the reason why, after the meeting, Ignis stops to chat with a few dignitaries in lieu of heading out immediately. Certainly, Prompto could deal with his sickness alone for that amount of time. 

But as the clock ticks ever onward, Ignis forces himself to go. He has to pick up Noctis in an hour and a half, so he wouldn’t have much time to check in on Prompto, but it’s better than no time at all.

Ignis arrives at Prompto’s townhouse in just twenty minutes, a new record, probably only created out of guilt that he hasn’t visited earlier. But all the same, he walks up to Prompto’s door and knocks twice. He waits patiently to hear any sign that the house’s inhabitant is awake, but hears none. He sighs and rings the doorbell. Another minute passes with no noise, and Ignis is starting to worry. Perhaps he has passed out and needs medical attention?

Ignis ducks to retrieve the spare key Prompto has hidden in a hideaway nook of his own creation, unlock the door, and step through.

As usual, Prompto’s house is in that weird grey area between clean and messy. Mail is piled up on the counter, and an empty milk carton sits next to the sink, but compared to Noct’s house, this place is practically spotless.

“Prompto? It’s Ignis. Are you awake?” He calls, ducking his head into the bathroom, living room, kitchen, and bedroom, but seeing no sign of the blond. “Propmto?” He calls again. The entire house is dark and silent, like something out of one of those scary movies Noctis and Prompto always watch, and he starts to feel uneasy. He keeps searching around the house, looking for any sign of its inhabitant before he has to call off the search and pick Noctis up from school. 

As he drives, he mulls over the problem, picking at it from different angles, trying to come to a logical conclusion.

 

* * *

 

Noctis isn’t even halfway into the car when he asks about Prompto. Ignis merely adjusts his glasses.

“When I arrived, Prompto was not at his house. I assume from your question that he did not show up at school?”

Noctis shakes his head. “No, and he hasn’t been answering any of my texts. I’m kinda worried.” His voice wavers and Ignis feels a pang of sympathy. Prompto is still a relatively new friend of Noctis’, and the prince is still worrying over him. Everything from him not doing so well in school to him not eating enough food. Every time Prompto misses a get-together or a day or two of school, Noctis would be convinced that Prompto was avoiding it (even though he does his damnedest to hide it), and Ignis finds himself caving to the Prince’s worries. 

“We can stop by his house again, if you so wish. Perhaps he was just especially sick and needed to go to the doctor.” He suggests, though he hardly believes it himself. Prompto is the type of person who would insist he’s fine while staring at his own broken arm. And while he definitely complains about minor illnesses more than is strictly necessary, Ignis has noticed he tries to avoid the doctor whenever possible.

“Y-yeah, that’s probably it…” Noctis nods, clutching his bag in a white-knuckled grip. “Still, I would feel better if we swing by his house. Just one more time. D’you mind?”

Shaking his head, Ignis turns down a side street towards Prompto’s subdivision. It only takes around 10 minutes to arrive back at Prompto’s house. Noctis bolts out of the car before Ignis even sets it into park, and practically mows the front door open by the time Ignis parks and takes the keys out. Ignis crosses the threshold just as Noctis slides into the main hallway, panting and practically crying.

“Ig, he’s not here! Where is he? He should have been back from the doctor’s now, and he should have answered my texts!”

Though worry twists Ignis’s guts as well, he forces himself to think rationally. “Perhaps his ailment is more severe and he’s at the hospital. We needn’t panic until we’re certain.”

Noctis doesn’t look convinced, but follows Ignis to the car anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto does his best but ends up making things worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm going to speed up the frequency of chapters because these are pretty short chapters and not much really happens.

Prompto wakes up to a dim pain in the side of his head and an overall feeling of dizziness. Panic courses through his body as he remembered what just happened to him, his heart hammering like a piston in his chest. He tries to push himself up, but his arms are trapped, tied together with what feels like rope, scratchy and rough on his skin. 

He manages to press himself into a sitting position and takes a look at the room around him. It’s small, maybe the size of his bathroom back home, with little more than a random bucket in the corner. The door is made of metal and looked thick and sturdy. There are no windows to the outside, but Prompto notices that there’s a fist-sized square in the door for people to look into or out of the room. He slowly shuffles to his feet, trying to keep his balance as he stumbles over.

He peers through, trying to see if he could see anything that would help him, but a pair of eyes suddenly appears in his field of view with a loud, “Boo!”

Prompto yelps and falls backward, failing to brace himself for the fall and slamming his head against the ground. He can’t move for a few seconds as the room around him turns grey and fuzzy before slowly shifting back into clarity. By the time he tries to sit up again, there’s a vaguely familiar man sitting on a chair that was definitely not there a few seconds ago.

“Wh-what’s going on? Who’re you?” Prompto tries to keep his voice steady, really tries, but he’s terrified. He has no idea what these people want with him, sees visions of them killing him, turning him inside out and leaving the mess for someone else to deal with.

The thought leaves him dizzy and he rests his head against the wall, closing his eyes against the weird buzzing sensation that leaves him numb.

He jerks awake when a hand slaps his cheek. Did he actually pass out? 

“Hey. Welcome to the land of the living again. Let’s see how long you stay.”

Prompto’s blood runs cold at the words and the man’s tone of voice. “Why am I here? What do you want? I don’t have any money!”

The man, a brunet with a thick jaw and dark eyes, laughs. “I don’t want money, kid. I want information.”

Heart clenching, Prompto tries to slow his breathing, but it doesn’t really work.  He’s so scared, he has an idea what these people want, and no clue what they’re willing to do to get at it. “Wh-wh-” His voice catches in his throat and he tries to cough it away. “What information?”

“Nothing in particular,” The man leans back in his chair with a smirk, “We’ve noticed that you’re really close to the dear Prince Noctis. Figure that you spend a lot of time with him. You should know his schedule, passcode to his apartment. Things like that. Maybe you even overhear some things you shouldn’t. All I want is just a little bit of that information, and then you’re free as a bird.”

Prompto wants to be feisty, wants to laugh in this man’s face, but he’s so terrified that he can’t even open his mouth. His limbs are shaking so hard he’s pretty sure the man can see it, but he just can’t force them to stop. He looks into the man’s eyes and he can  _ swear _ he see his own death. 

“If you don’t cooperate, I’ll have to force you. I don’t think that you want that.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a weird piece of plastic. It’s rectangular in shape, with a grip in the middle and a weird forked end. “You know what this is?”

It looks kinda familiar, but Prompto shakes his head. 

The man looks unhealthily delighted at this information and shifts closer to Prompto. Unconsciously, Prompto starts to lean away, but the man snatches his shirtfront and drags him closer. The look in his eyes drives Prompto’s breath to quicken, his heart pounding harder, so hard that he is vaguely afraid it will burst out of his chest.

“Let’s try it out then, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

It’s a curious sensation, being tased. Everything just… stops working. He doesn’t fall unconscious (which is  _ painfully _ unfortunate), but every muscle in his body just. Stops. Working. He’s frozen, unable to even scream (or maybe he does, he really can’t tell) as waves of agony wash over him. 

It lasts a while,  _ feels _ like it lasts a while, but it probably wasn’t that long. Eventually, the taser is pulled away and, almost as if someone flipped a switch in his body, he can move again. He probably can’t move  _ well _ , with legs that feel like noodles and arms that are shaking like a candle flame in a windstorm, but he bounces back surprisingly well considering what this jackass is doing to him.

Before Prompto even has a chance to move, though, the man is on top of him, hands clenching around his neck.  _ Hard _ . It cuts off his circulation, and he can’t breathe. He tries to buck away, weakly, mouth open and gasping for air, but the man only grins and tightens his grip. 

_This is it_ , Prompto thinks, _I am going to die._ _There’s so much I haven’t done yet, and I’m gonna die._ But just as his body turns numb and his vision goes all hazy, the man releases the pressure, letting Prompto heave in breaths until he’s practically drunk on oxygen.

“You see, I can do that for  _ hours _ ,” he purrs, giving Prompto an uncomfortably warm smile, “All I need is just some information. I’m sure you can provide that, can’t you?”

“No!” Prompto yells before he can convince himself otherwise, “I don’t know anything.” Well, he’s stuck with that now. Part of him is proud of himself for resisting, for protecting his best friend. The other part of him is terrified about what they would do with him when they thought he knew nothing. Hopefully, they’d stop torturing him. Maybe kill him quickly or something, ‘cause Prompto can’t deal with much more of this pain.

The thing is, Prompto  _ certainly _ knows more than he should. Not just little things like Noct’s passwords and schedule and favorite foods and whatever, but also, more…  _ classified _ things. Noctis has started reading classified reports while Prompto’s around, and Prompto is too embarrassed to tell his friend  _ he mumbles out loud when he reads _ . Nothing big, but the little things tend to add up.

So he knows quite a bit. He tries to tune it out, to be respectful, but he’s curious, and his imagination is just a bit too hyperactive, so he finds himself listening. He listens to Gladio’s, Ignis’ and Noctis’  _ super classified conversations _ when they think he’s asleep and it’s too late to say anything because why didn’t you say anything two minutes ago when we started talking about this? 

“You never know what might slip out when someone’s desperate for relief from the pain.” The man grins, “Just a few little things that add up is all I need.”

Just like that, the man lunges forward, pressing the taser against the soft flesh of where Prompto’s shoulder meets his neck.

Pain lances through his entire body, and he jerks, muscles going stiff. He doubts he’d be able to tell this sadistic bastard anything if he  _ wanted _ to. And part of him definitely wants to. He’s so scared, in over his head, not knowing where he was or what was going to happen to him. 

But another, stronger part of himself reminds him,  _ You must be strong. Prove that you’re strong enough to be Noctis’s friend _ .

After an indeterminate amount of time, the taser is removed from his neck, but before he can completely recover, the man’s hands are around his throat again, and Prompto struggles, even weaker this time.

He loses track of time after a while. The past… how long has it been? Minutes? Hours? He’s not quite sure… it’s been a mist of mindless pain interspersed with shocking numbness. He wishes that he would just pass out or  _ die _ or something so he doesn’t have to deal with it. But his body is stubbornly strong and refuses to let him go.

Suddenly, there’s no pain, no hands on his throat. He can move, and breath, and think, and it’s the greatest feeling in the world. He stays on the ground for a bit, relishing his newfound freedom for however many seconds he has left.

“I’m starting to get a little bored. Is there anything you’d like to tell me? If you just give me a little information, there’s a nicer place for you to stay,” His voice is low and comforting, seducing him into giving in. Prompto forces the voice in the back of his head telling him to just give in, that’s it’s not worth anything.

“Please! I don’t know  _ anything _ ! W-we never hang out at his place! A-and he never brings anything classified like that when we hang out together!”

The man pauses, gives him a calculating look. “Is that right?” He asks, in a voice that’s filled with wonder.

“Yes!” Prompto’s probably crying at this point, but he’s too exhausted to care, “Yes, I promise! I don’t know anything, I can’t tell you  _ anything _ !”

“Oh, well, I don’t know about that…” The man trails off, and his smile turns predatory.

If he wasn’t crying before, Prompto certainly is now. The man’s going to hurt him more, try and make him betray Noct, and-

“You’ve already told me some of the things I want to know. Now you’ll be rewarded.”

An icy hand grips Prompto’s heart. “Wh-what? No, I didn’t tell you anything! I don-”

The man snaps a kick to Prompto’s side, shutting him up. “You told me enough. You said you never go over to Noctis’ house, so he likely goes to your house. We know where that is, so we can use that. You also mentioned that he never brings classified documents with him. So he must leave them at his home. Once we find out where that is, we’ll be all set.”

Prompto realizes his mistake with dawning horror. In his pathetic attempts at refusal, he had given this man exactly what he wanted. The thought makes him sick. “N-n-no…” 

The man heaves Prompto to his feet, bracing him when he tips to the side. “Don’t worry, there’s still more we can learn,” the man grins. “Just as long as you continue to cooperate, you won’t be hurt.”

“No! I-I’m not cooperating!” As if to prove his point, Prompto drops his entire weight to the floor and kicks out at the brunet man. “I won’t tell you anything!”

The man heaves a sigh and wraps his arms around Prompto again. He’s strong. Not Gladio-strong by any means, but certainly stronger than Prompto, who, despite all his working out, can’t seem to gain any significant muscle mass. So despite how Prompto writhes and wriggles, between his exhaustion and his inability to gain any leverage, he’s unable to stop himself being manhandled out of the cell and down a hallway.

They stop in front of elevator doors and Prompto stiffens slightly. He can’t go into that. He hates elevators under normal circumstances, but there is no way in hell that he’s gonna go into that rickety old-

The doors creak open and Prompto’s forced inside. He watches in horror as the doors close behind them, leaving him with a tightness in his chest and a feeling like he couldn’t breathe.

He tries to suck in his breath quietly, so the other man wouldn't notice, but the brunet is almost as sharp as Ignis, and turns to him with a curious look. “Are you claustrophobic?” He’s not condescending or even curious.

“N-no,” Prompto replies, and he immediately cringes. There’s no way the man would believe him.

“Hm. Sorry. But as long as you cooperate with us, you won’t have to worry about us using that against you, yeah?”

Prompto can’t even nod, he’s too concentrated on breathing and not throwing up. He’s glad that the man’s holding him up because he’s not sure he can do all three at once. 

Blessedly, the elevator, while rickety and creaky, is quick, and once it deposits them in a significantly nicer-looking hallway, Prompto finds that he can breathe easier and the nausea isn’t as intense. 

He barely has time to notice anything about his surroundings when he’s shoved forward into another room and the bonds around his arms are cut.

“Enjoy!” The man says, “You earned it.”

“No!” Prompto slams his fists against the door, “No, I  _ didn’t _ earn it! I don’t want to earn it! Let me back out! I’m not telling you anything!  _ Please!” _

But the man’s already gone, leaving Prompto with nothing but an empty hole in his heart and the sickening sensation that he’s a traitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^.^


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis makes a chilling discovery, and Prompto starts to realize how much trouble he's in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be participating in Prompto Week, so even though I planned a twice-weekly upload schedule for this fic, I might have to slow down to just once a week so I can focus on those fics.

When beating his fists against the door gets him nowhere, Prompto sits back against the door, taking in his surroundings. It’s a room about the same size as his cell, but it’s better furnished. There’s even a bed in one corner, and a toilet and sink in another. A crate serves as a nightstand, on top of which is a tray of food and water.

His stomach grumbles, trying to remind him that it’s been a while since he last ate. How long had it been? He didn’t eat before he went out on his run, but he’s not quite how long it’s been since then. It could be anywhere from a couple hours to a couple days.

But as he looks closer at the meal, his stomach twists. It’s only there because he betrayed his friend. He can’t accept the food, the comfort. It would be his penance for accidentally giving this man exactly what he wants.

So he settles down on the rug and tries to ignore his growling stomach. It’s hard, but if he shifts so he’s sleeping on his stomach, it’s a little easier.

However hard he tries, though, he can’t fall asleep. He’s so hungry, and he feels so jittery that he eventually gets to his feet and starts walking around.

He comes to a stop in front of the tray of food. His stomach growls again. This could be his last chance to eat. He really shouldn’t be denying it, but some part of him rejects the thought of eating food that his captor provides.

But the water… He _has_ to drink the water. He can survive a couple weeks without food, but only a couple days without water. He has to gather his strength for what was coming up.

With that decided, Prompto gulps the water down, relishing the coolness soothing his aching throat.

All too soon, the water is gone, and he’s left, panting, wishing he was back home, or at school, or just anywhere but _here_.

He drops to his knees, hugging his arms tightly around his waist, doing his best to hold back the tears threatening to fall. He can’t let this get to him, he needs to stay strong until someone rescued him…

Eventually…

 

* * *

 

He must have fallen asleep, because when he opens his eyes, he’s face-down on the ground, and there’s a shuffling sound behind him. He grits his teeth and gets to his hands and knees. Everything aches and his stomach is clenching so painfully it hurts.

Despite it all, he sits on his heels and looks over his shoulder.

The brown-haired man is sitting on the bed, scrolling through his phone with a bored expression. When he glances up and meet Prompto’s eyes, his face breaks into a smirk. “Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” He says, “You gonna continue to help us?”

Despite the panic hammering in his chest, Prompto gets to his feet shakily. Then, with a sense of bravery he never realized he possessed, he scoffs out a shaky, “Fuck you.”

The man sighs, then shoves his phone into his back pocket. “I was afraid you were going to say that,” He says, grabbing Prompto roughly. “Pity.”

Then, before Prompto has time to react, the man slams him back into the wall. He’s momentarily stunned, trying to get his body to move, but then harsh metal snaps around his wrists, locking them behind his back.

Prompto’s led to the stairs, and there’s thankfully more space in the stairwell than in the elevator, and he has plenty of room to breathe.

“You see,” the brunet man drawls casually, “You be a good boy, and you get rewarded.”

Prompto shivers at his tone of voice, trying to insist that he’s _not_ going to be good, but his voice hitches in his throat and he can’t quite get the words out. Instead, he scoffs, training his gaze on the ground in front of him.

The man shoves him forward into his cell from the day before. Except it’s not as empty as before: A medium-sized chest, wooden and thick, stands off to the side. Immediately, alarm bells go off in his head, and he tries to back away. “Wh-what-” He stutters, trying to get his body to work, to push himself away from what he knows is going to happen.

“I told you,” the brunet says with a grin. “You just need to answer my questions, and I won’t use your fear against you.”

“I-I... “ Prompto’s breath came faster and faster, until he was almost hyperventilating.

“So are you gonna tell us anything?” The man says, dragging him menacingly closer to the chest. “Anything, really, big or small as you want. I’ll take it all.”

Prompto swallows, a snarky remark on his lips, but he bites it back, knowing it will only get him punished. “N-no.”

“You really know _nothing_?” The man asks incredulously. “Honestly, you’ve been around him for over a year now. I’ve known co-workers better in a few months than you apparently do about your best friend.”

With a shrug, Prompto says, thinking over his words carefully, “Noctis is careful.” Nothing that he said there could be used against Noctis, he’s pretty sure.

“Noctis is a teenager. Teenagers are anything but careful,” The man points out.

Prompto starts to respond that Noctis has Ignis, but cuts himself off just in time. This man is tricky. He has to be careful with his words. Instead, Prompto stays stubbornly silent, praying that this man will just leave him the fuck alone.

The man sighs. “Well, if you have nothing to say, I’ll just have to put you in the chest.”

Panic courses through Prompto’s body, turning his veins into lightning. He can’t stay here, he has to get away.

But the man’s grip is too strong, and he’s too weak. He bucks and kicks as much as he can, but the man just presses the tazer into his flesh, and his muscles immediately fail him.

In that time, the man picks him up and manages to stuff him into the tight wooden chest and shut the lid.

Prompto freezes, trying to convince himself that this was okay, that everything was okay. It’s bigger than it looked from the outside, not incredibly thick, but sturdy enough that, as curled up as he is, he can’t quite get enough leverage to even attempt to break out.

Still, being trapped in a dark, enclosed space with his hands tied behind his back makes it hard to think, let alone breathe.

He’s trapped here, stuck, until someone comes and gets him. They could leave him in here until he dies and there’s not a _damn_ thing he can do. He’s gonna die here, he knows it. Even though he knows it’s pointless, his body still thrashes against the bonds, and his vocal chords scream as loud as he can.

He’s making so much noise, he’s pretty sure that people can hear him from a mile away, even through the wood, but of course, no one’s coming for him. He’s also probably underground, judging from the windows. Probably far away from human civilization.

He screams louder, thrashes harder, even though he _knows_ his captor is probably getting off on it. He just can’t seem to help himself. He’s trapped, and the darkness is suffocating, and his knees are pressed into his chest and he can’t _move_ right, and he just wants to be able to breathe.

Something slams against the chest from the outside and Prompto screams even louder.

“Shut the fuck _up_!” A muffled voice from the outside yells.

But Prompto doesn’t stop, he doesn’t think he _can_. His heart is throbbing like a piston, pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest, and that translates to screaming like his limbs are getting ripped off.

All at once, the lid is ripped off, and it feels like he can breathe again. He gulps in air, as much as his lungs can take in, but before he can make a move to get out, the brunet man pins him down.

It’s too easy, since Prompto’s curled up uncomfortably and he can’t get enough leverage to buck the man’s knee off. Then the man shoves a rag over Prompto’s mouth, knotting it in the back tightly so that Prompto’s jaw aches.

He tries to plead with the man to let him go, but his words are muffled through the gag, and the man slams the lid shut soon after.

Something inside Prompto breaks as he’s plunged into darkness all over again. He _can’t_ be stuck in here, he’s actually going to _die_ in here.

Before he knows it, he’s throwing his weight onto the lid, or as much as he can manage in this position. He’s screaming as much as he can through the gag, trying to take in as much air as he can, but he’s slowly getting dizzy from lack of oxygen.

“ _Please!_ ” Prompto screams, though, through the gag, his words are muffled to the point of being nearly intelligible.

He slams his body as hard as he can against the lid of the chest. He’s not sure what it’ll accomplish, but it seems his body is acting without conscious input.

Unfortunately, when he falls against the bottom of the chest again, he lands on his arm at an odd angle. It jars his shoulder awkwardly, and then there’s a wet popping noise and a screaming pain running up and down his arm.

He screams even louder, if that was possible, and tries to breathe through the pain, but his breaths are coming short and fast, and the confines of the chest are suffocating. He can feel his head spinning, filling with cotton.

Everything’s painful and tingly and dizzy for a few moments, then, it all stops.

 

* * *

 

Noctis taps his fingers on his desk impatiently, ignoring the dirty look his teacher gives him. Prompto’s not in school, and it’s hard for Noctis to tear his eyes away from the blond’s empty seat.

He doesn’t think Prompto’s ever been gone for two days in a row, and _certain_  the blond would've contacted him about it. He can’t concentrate in class. Even now, he forgets what class he’s in.

He raises his hand and asks to go to the bathroom.

He doesn’t bother taking the pass: He’s not going to be back for a while. Iggy’ll probably throw a fit over him ditching school, but some things are more important than school, and Prompto was one of them.

So he manages to walk calmly out a side door, purposefully. No one usually ever stops him from whatever he’s doing, but his heart still beats rapidly at the thought of getting caught. He hasn’t quite perfected the art of warping yet, so if he _does_ get caught, he won’t be able to get out of it.

But no one stops him. No one even looks twice at him.

Then, when he finally turns the corner, he starts running.

 

* * *

 

He’s halfway to the police station when his phone rings. For a moment, he thinks it’s Iggy, and that his advisor is angry at him for ditching. But then he checks the caller ID and his heart stops.

“Prompto! Prompto, where have you _been_? I’ve been so wor-”

“Uh, hello?” A very unfamiliar voice asks.

Immediately, Noctis is on high alert. “Who is this? Why do you have Prompto’s phone?”

“Oh, uh, I’m a trash collector. I found this phone laying on top of some trash bags,” The man replies, “Just called the most recent number. You know how I can get this phone back to its owner?”  
Noctis swears under his breath. “Wh-where are you?”

The man on the other end of the line hums, then responds, “The alleyway between Chriton’s and Al’s Belly Buster. Along Plainsway Court.”

That was several blocks away, but if he ran, he could probably get there in ten minutes. Suddenly, he is very thankful for Gladio’s workout routine. “Just… just stay there. I’ll be there soon.”

“But I gotta get on with the collecting,” The man says, “I run a tight schedule. My boss gets mad if I don’t do it on time.”

“Well tell your boss to call me, and I’ll tell him to shove it. This is important,” Noctis hisses, breath already short from sprinting.

“Look, kid, I’ll drop it off at the police station when I get off work, then you can-”  
“No!” Noctis yells, “No, that phone is important, stay _there_!”

“Look, kid, -”

“I’m not a fucking _kid_ , fuck off!”

“If you’re going to insult me, I’m just gonna hang up.”

“No! Wait, I’m sorry, please!” Noctis says, trying not to breathe too heavily.

The man pauses, then sighs. “Whatever,” He sighs, “But if you make me lose my job, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“I promise you,” Noctis pants, “I will make sure you are well-compensated.”

“What, you have a rich mommy or daddy?” The man asks.

Noctis laughs shortly. “You could say that.”

The rest of his run is silent, as he pours more of his energy into going faster, _faster_ . When he finally arrives at the alleyway where the garbage truck is idling, he’s shed his blazer and loosened his tie. He probably looks like a madman. He _feels_ like a madman. But he’s there, and there’s a man leaning against the garbage truck, holding a familiar phone in one hand.

The man looks up when Noctis arrives and tries to take a step back, forgetting that he’s already pretty firmly against the metal door of his truck. “I, uh, Your Highness,” The man says, holding out the phone in a trembling hand.

Noctis snatches it up, barely remembering to say thank you, before he’s dialing Ignis’ number.

“Highness, I thought we discussed-”  
“Iggy, I found Prompto’s phone. It was in an alleyway on top of some garbage bags. I-” He pauses, as his eye catches on a rust-colored stain on the bleached brick side of the alleyway. “Oh my gods…” he breathes, “Iggy, there-there’s _blood_.”

Ignis is silent for a long, agonizing moment. Then he sighs. “I believe this may have been more serious than we anticipated.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, I wasn't planning the whole "shoving Prompto in a chest" until we got this giant chest in at work (I work in a used-goods store), and a coworker mentioned shoving a screaming kid inside of it. And because I'm a sadistic bitch, I'm like, "Ohhhh, Prompto would _hate_ this.
> 
> So...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get significantly worse for Prompto, but Noctis, Ignis, and Cor make some headway.

Prompto comes to slowly. His head is pounding and his shoulder feels like gelatin: painful, excruciating gelatin. But he can feel that his legs are stretched out behind him, and he’s not curled up in a ball. A quick peek through half-lidded lids confirms that he is, in fact out of the chest. He could almost cry.

“Hey, kid,” A voice from behind whispers, “You’re Prompto Argentum?”

He tries to wriggle to face the owner of the voice, but his shoulder screams at him and he can barely bite back the yelp of pain. “Wh-what’s it to you?”

A black-haired woman dressed in black steps into sight, crouching down so she’s able to lock eyes with him. “My name is Polera. I am a member of the Crownsguard. I’m here to bust you out,” she says with a smile.

Prompto’s heart leaps into his throat. A Crownsguard? Noctis must have figured it out! He gives Polera a thin smile and starts to struggle to his feet. “Thank you…” he breathes, “Gods, thank you so much. I…thanks.”

In turn, Polera gives him a smile and helps him to his feet, keeping a gentle hand on his lower back. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

She leads him down the stairs, talking softly about how worried Noctis has been, how he had demanded that everyone work overtime just to find out where Prompto had been taken. “We sent a few people to secure and take out whoever did this to you,” She says, rubbing comforting circles into his back, “And then I came in to take you out,” She finishes, leading him down another hallway.

Prompto nods slowly. Noctis...Noctis did all that for _him_? Part of him is embarrassed that Noctis did so much for a stupid commoner like him, but part of him (the larger part, definitely) is just glad he's getting out of here.

The woman opens a door and shoves him inside.

Prompto stumbles forward, lurching to a stop and barely managing to regain his balance. “What-” He starts, turning to face Polera, who is closing the door behind her.

The woman’s grin is feral, and the glint in her eye makes him back up a few steps. “Oh, poor thing,” She purrs, “You thought someone was coming to save you.”

Prompto can’t understand what’s going on, and he tries to get his brain to unravel the mystery. “Wait, what… what’s going on?” He asks, then he gets a good look at the room around him.

It’s a little bit bigger than the cell where he was kept in the chest, with unfinished stone walls and flooring, and, along one wall sits a metal pole with thick circles at ankle level and several feet up.

All at once, he realizes that the woman wears nothing with the Crownsguard insignia, nor is there any sign of skulls or crossbones that signifies the king’s connection with Etros.

“You...You’re not Crownsguard, are you?” He asks, shrinking away from the woman stalking up to him slowly.

“No,” She grins, “I’m not.”

* * *

Noctis taps his fingers impatiently on his thigh as Cor looks over the papers.

“I don’t know what to say, Highness,” Cor says with a sigh, taking a swig of Ebony. “I’ve combed through the records, but there’s no sign of him. It doesn’t look like he left Insomnia, so he must still be here.”

  
“No _shit_!” Noctis yells, “That wasn’t the question. The question was ‘where the fuck _is_ he’!”

“All we know right now,” Cor snaps right back, “Is that he didn’t leave Insomnia. So he must still be here. Getting security camera footage from the entire city would be impossible, so we need to narrow our search. We need to figure out where and when he was taken, so we don’t need to watch thousands of hours of footage for nothing.”

Noctis sighs. “Fine. Thanks.”

Cor nods. “I know you’re worried for your friend. We all are. But losing your head isn’t going to do anyone any good.

“Yeah, right,” Noctis says, turning to head out of the Marshal’s office.

* * *

“Would _this_ photo be acceptable?” Ignis asks, showing Noctis a selfie Prompto had taken a few weeks ago.

Noctis studies it carefully. The blond’s face is tilted slightly, but the lighting accentuates his freckles and blonde hair, and his blue-violet eyes are visible. It’s a good picture in general, but it also accurately depicts what Prompto looks like, so it’s their best option.

“Looks good,” He says, and Ignis sends it to the computer. After a few clicks and drags, Prompto’s selfie is in the middle of a document. Above his head stands bold-faced font declaring: MISSING. Then, below the picture is vague information about him, as well as Noctis’ contact information.

Once the poster is finished, Noctis prints out as many pages as Ignis would allow. _500 wanted posters are_ not _too much._ He thinks angrily, but bows to Ignis’ wisdom.

“So, where would Prompto be most likely to hang out?” Ignis asks, clenching his stack of missing posters.

Noctis pauses. “Umm… the arcade? I guess? Or maybe the running path? And I think he likes to take photos in the park by school.”

Ignis nods quickly. “Then there is where we will place the posters.”

 

* * *

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been walking around the city. Long enough for the pain in his back to go numb from pain. His leg isn’t quite there yet, but he refuses to stop until he has plastered every possible place with at least twenty of the missing posters.

He’s just about to suggest they try the Crow’s Nest when his phone starts ringing. He barely suppresses a shout, pulling it out of his pocket and glancing at the caller I.D. The number is unfamiliar to him, but he just spent the last few hours putting up posters with his phone number splayed across it, so hopefully, it’s not a coincidence.

“Hello?” He asks, heart beating in his throat. If this was just a wrong number, he was going to throw his phone into a fucking brick wall.

“Uh, hi,” The voice is gruff, male. He could probably mistake it for Gladio, under the right conditions. “Is this the person looking for, uh, Prompto?”

“Yeah!” Noctis shouts, anxiety coursing through his veins. He hopes it’s good news, _prays_ that it’s good news. “Yeah, I’m looking for him. Do you know where he is?”

“Ah, no, sorry,” The man says, “But I did notice something weird about him.”

Noctis waits for the man to elaborate.

“I mean, ever since he was a kid, we’ve seen each other on our runs most days. Nowadays, we usually see each other twice a day, but, a couple days ago, I only saw him once, then I haven’t seen him since,” The man says, “I was hoping he just changed up his schedule, but seeing these posters, now I’m a little worried.”

Noctis coughs out a laugh. “You and me both. So where and when did you last see him?”

The man hums to himself, “5:45, I think? In the morning. Right before the path crosses Plainsway. I should have seen him again around 6:15, but he wasn’t there.” The man pauses. “Does… does that help?”

“Y-yeah,” Noctis tries to remember how to breathe. They know where he was taken and about the time he was taken, they can get the footage and find out who took Prompto. “Yeah, thank you so much. That… that should help. Thanks so much. Oh, uh, can I get your name or something? So we can compensate you if it pans out?”

“Nah, it’s okay,” The man says, “I just hope you find the kid alright. He’s a sweet guy.”

Noctis does his best to bite back a sob. “Yeah, he is.”

* * *

In hindsight, Noctis should have expected this.

“I’m sorry, Highness, but you are a _child_ ,” The Marshal stares coldly down at him. “You did well to follow these leads, but from here, we cannot risk you or your own on this mission. It’s dangerous.”

“Cor, my _best friend_ is in danger. I’m going to fucking _help_ him.”

“And you have,” Cor responds, “You allowed us to locate the rough timeframe and location of his kidnapping. From there, the _professionals_ will be able to handle everything.”

With a barely suppressed growl, Noctis steps forward but is held back by Ignis.

“Surely no harm can come from us viewing the footage and giving our opinion?” Ignis asks smoothly, though Noctis can feel his advisor’s hand clenching in anger.

Cor sighs and looks from him to Noctis. “Fair enough. You sure you wanna watch, though? I haven’t seen this yet either, so I don’t know if anything happens to the kid.”

Noctis clenches his fists and shrugs out of Ignis’ grasp. “I want to watch,” He says, eyes hard as he stares at Cor.

After a slight pause, Cor sighs and motions them into his office. “Fine.”

Cor takes the office chair as Noctis and Ignis crowd on either side of him. After a few keystrokes, grainy footage of the alleyway pops into view. In the corner of the footage, Noctis sees the time and date. It’s already been too long since Prompto disappeared, and they only _now_ figured out where and when he was taken. What good is being the prince if he can’t help his best friend?

The footage flies by at 10 times the normal speed, but Cor quickly slows it down when a figure enters the alleyway. It only takes a glance to realize it’s not Prompto, it’s just a kid. Well… a younger kid than Prompto. He sits in the alleyway, his back pressed against the dumpster.

As they watch, the kid cocks his head to the side, as if listening intently, then draws his knees to his chest and tucks his head down. His shoulders shake with obvious sobs.

A few minutes later, Prompto walks into view, holding a tentative hand out to the kid as he draws his phone out with the other. But as Prompto crouches down to get on the kid’s level, the kid lashes out and takes off.

Prompto’s shocked into stillness for a moment before he scrambles to his feet and takes off after the kid. But before he can make it out of the alleyway, a white van cuts off his access back into the street.

Noctis’ fingers clench on the faux leather of Cor’s office chair as the brunet man who had gotten out of the passenger’s seat takes down Prompto, stuffing his best friend’s head in a sack and slamming him against the brick wall again. He turns away as Prompto’s body slackens but can’t look away from long.

A woman and another man get out of the car as well, and together, they heave his body onto the van, then speed away.

Cor pauses the footage, then leans back. “I’ll get the tech guys on this, see if they can get a license plate or anything off of this,” He says, “We have their faces and their car. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before we find Prompto as well.”

Noctis bows his head. “I hope so,” He mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, for some reason I really like the dude who encourages Prompto to keep running in Brotherhood. He's just a sweetie. So, yeah, the dude that calls Noctis is him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse before they get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've basically been writing non-stop for Prompto Week, which has been both enjoyable and stressful because homework is a thing I should be doing, but hey. So I don't think I'll update this fic this Saturday, but I might do it on Tuesday if I get done with writing before Prompto Week starts, but we'll see. I might wanna take a break, but I don't feel like I need one??? Idk. We'll play it by ear.
> 
> **content warning:** There's some non-graphic hand and foot mutilation in this chapter. If you wish to skip it, stop reading when you hit _"Part of him wants to turn around and find out why, but the other part doesn’t quite want to know."_ You can resume reading starting with _“Cor pinches the bridge of his nose.”_ , content with knowing that Prompto's hand and foot hurt _a lot_

Prompto does his best to fight against the woman, whose name is apparently  _ not _ Polera. But she’s even stronger than the man and easily keeps him from escaping. She barely even flinches when he flat-out punches her in the face.

For his troubles, the woman slams his face against the rough-hewn wall, then knocks him down to the ground. He tries to struggle against her, but the woman wraps his wrists in rope and heaves him to a standing position, looping the rope into the tall metal rings and stretching his arms painfully upward. His right shoulder screams in pain as it’s shifted around, and he does his best to try and wrench himself away, but the woman just rips his arm back up.

He’s pretty sure he passed out for a few minutes, because the next thing he knows, he’s being suspended from his wrists against the metal pole. His right arm hurts so bad he’s pretty sure it’s being ripped off, and he lets out a broken sob. 

Luckily, he manages to get his feet under him, and that eases the pain in his shoulder marginally. 

“So you’re awake again,” the voice is that of the brunet man from before, and Prompto has to work to contain a shudder. He’s facing the metal pole and the wall, and he has to crane his neck awkwardly to catch a glimpse of the man, and even then, his shoulder reminds him that it’s dislocated and he has to turn back to face front.

“Y-yeah…” Prompto rasps. 

“Great. So I have a few questions for you,” He says, walking up to Prompto’s side and leaning against the wall. 

“‘M not saying anything,” Prompto spits, turning his head away from the man’s gaze.

“Oh, come now,” The man purrs, resting a hand on Prompto’s dislocated shoulder, “Don’t you remember that nice room? And I’m sure if you cooperate, we can help with that shoulder of yours.” The man presses down, and the scraping of bone against muscle and cartilage sends a flare of pain through Prompto’s skull and arm. 

He screams, vision going fuzzy with pain, but everything hurts too much for him to really do anything. 

The hand is taken off his shoulder, and the pain lessens. He’s left panting, holding back the tears burning his eyes. 

“You see,” the man says, “You just need to give us information, you won’t be hurt like that ever again.”

And, unbidden in his mind, he entertains the thought of giving this man what he wants. He banishes it just as quickly, but that split second of  _ maybe I should just give him what he wants _ hurts. How can he even  _ think _ about that? 

“No!” he spits out, “I’m not saying  _ anything _ .”

The man sighs, then pushes off the wall. “A shame.”

Prompto hears the man open and close the door, then he’s left to his thoughts and the lingering pain in his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Time kinda melts together in the room. The lights never turn off, and he’s stuck standing for what feels like hours, and there are no windows anywhere to give him a clue to the passage of time. It’s… it’s all so weird. He wants to sleep, but he’s bound tightly to this metal pole, and any movement jostles his already-aching shoulder.

He’s given too much time to be in his head, and his thoughts seem to scream at him to just let go. Give in. Give up. 

_ No _ . He can’t give up. He has to stay strong, for Noctis. He has to protect his friend against the people who would hurt him. But even as he thinks it, his throat constricts with the realization that everything is only going to get worse, and he has no idea if Noctis has even noticed him missing. It’s just as likely that Noctis found a new friend and has forgotten Prompto entirely.

The floor is starting to sway under his feet when the door finally opens again. This time, an unfamiliar black-haired man is standing in the doorway. Prompto faces the metal pole again.

“I don’t suppose you’ll believe me if I told you I was Crownsguard, would you?” The man’s voice is scratchy, and higher pitched than his face would suggest.

Prompto lets out a laugh that is more of a cough. “Yeah, no.”

“Shame,” The man sighs. “And are you still going to resist, or did your time alone make you smarter.”

“I told you,” Prompto grits out, “I don’t  _ know _ anything.”

Another sigh. “Yeah, that’s what I figured,” The man says, then there’s a pause and the sound of his footsteps retreating. 

“Hey, bitch! I need ya!” He calls down the hallway.

“Fuck off,” A female voice shouts back, a voice he recognizes as that of not-Polera. A set of footsteps comes closer, slightly off-kilter. Part of him wants to turn around and find out why, but the other part doesn’t quite want to know.

“You wanna hold him or you want me to?” The man asks.

“I don’t give a fuck,” The woman responds, “Just someone needs to do it.”

Prompto knows better than to ask what they’re talking about.

“Fine, you hold, I hit. We can switch off between the hands and feet,” The man says.

“Wh-what are you talking about?” Prompto asks nervously.

They both ignore him, and the woman grabs his left wrist. “You a rightie?” She asks.

Prompto glances at her, then at his hand. Why would she ask that? Why would she need to know? Was it to trick some sort of information out of him? Could they use his handedness to somehow get to Noctis?

“Well, then, I guess we’ll just have to take a guess,” The woman sighs. “Just do the left. It doesn’t really fuckin’ matter.”

The man appeared in his periphery, holding a sledgehammer menacingly in two hands. And suddenly, everything makes sense.

The woman steps aside, letting the black-haired man have a good angle to Prompto’s left hand. The man winds up, then slams the head of the hammer onto the back of his hand.

He can’t quite describe the pain he feels. Everything in his hand feels like it’s on fire, and that fire is spreading up his wrist and arm. It hurts so much, it takes a few seconds to react to just how  _ painful _ it is, then it takes a few more seconds then for his brain to realize that he’s screaming and trying to escape. The pain in his shoulder doesn’t even register as he does his best to jerk away from the woman’s grasp. “Pl-please stop!” He says, “Please, gods, please stop!”

The man steps back and the woman releases his wrist. “Do you have anything to give to us, then?”

A dozen things that Prompto could tell them pass in front of his mind and he nearly blurts everything out, just to be rid of the pain. But somewhere deep inside is a reserve of strength he doesn’t quite know  _ how  _ he has, but he uses it anyway, biting his lip so hard it bleeds and letting the tears fall freely.

“I choose to take that as a ‘no’,” The man says. “If you will, babe?” The man gestures to Prompto’s feet.

“You wanna do the sledgehammer again?” The woman asks, kneeling to the ground and pressing all her weight into keeping Prompto’s foot weighted down.

“Yeah,” The man breathes, “Yeah, I think I like this.”

  
  


* * *

 

Cor pinches the bridge of his nose. “So you can’t get  _ any _ information about this car?”

The tech looks nervous but shakes her head. “No, sir. I can tell you it’s a white van, looks like an Audi A5 or something? But I can’t be sure. This is grainy footage. You can’t get much detail from it.”

“Can’t you, like, enhance the image?” Cor asks.

The tech fixes him with a stare that practically  _ screams _ , “look at this clueless old fart”. “Sir, a computer “enhances” a picture by guessing the unknown pixels. It’s inaccurate at best, impossible at worst. We need to find another way to get info on the car. Perhaps by looking at street camera footage near the scene?”

Cor swears. That will take days at the  _ least _ to get the proper permits. He  _ might _ be able to circumvent that process if the  _ prince  _ was the one in danger, but a commoner? Even one so close to the prince, it’s improbable. He needs to go through all the steps, or else face screams of “favoritism”.

As soon as he exits the tech room, Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio pounce on him, yapping for more information, as if he has any to give. While he understands their concern and appreciates their enthusiasm, he hasn’t gotten a full night’s sleep since Noctis told him of his friend’s disappearance. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “We’ve had no luck discerning any worthwhile data from the security cam footage. We might have luck with the traffic cameras, but it will take a couple days at least to get the necessary paperwork through.”

“What if my dad tells the paperwork people to fuck off and give you the footage?” Noctis asks.

“Highness,” He says, with all the patience of a man who waits approximately .2 seconds before charging into battle, “We need to go through proper channels. I know you want your friend safe and sound. I do too. But, as much as you like him, Prompto is a commoner and cannot be treated any different from your typical citizen.

Noctis looks betrayed and opens his mouth as if to protest, but his ringing phone interrupts him. He fixes Cor with a look that’s  _ supposed  _ to be scary, but considering Cor stared down a minor god when he was just 15, the look doesn’t really scare him that much.

“Yeah?” Noctis asks. 

Cor can hear a person on the other line talking, but it’s too faint for him to make out what’s being said.

“Okay… I don’t see how that’s important,” Noctis says. Then the voice on the other lines talks some more, and the young prince’s face morphs into a mask of anger. “What the  _ fuck!? _ ” He yells into the phone, “Why the  _ fuck _ would you do that?” The voice on the other end of the line talks some more, and Noctis’ breathing returns to safe levels. “Fuck, man, I- shit. Okay, I’m sorry, yeah, you’re right. So do you know anything about the man who paid you?”

Cor’s eyebrows fly into his hair and he suddenly wishes he could be in on this conversation. Ignis and Gladio look equally interested as well.

“You got the license- fuck, okay, yeah, one sec,” Noctis stammers, then presses his phone against his chest. “Cor, grab me a pencil and paper.”

“Can I ask what’s happening, Highness?” Cor asks, handing him the requested office supplies.

“Hold on,” Noctis says, then tucks his phone between his shoulder and ear. “Yeah, go ahead.” As the voice on the other end of the lines speaks, he scratches out a series of numbers and letters. “Okay, yeah. I’ll let them know you’re coming. Thank you. A-and I’m sorry.” With that, Noctis hangs up.

Before needing to be asked, Noctis thrusts the pad of paper at Cor. “That was the kid we saw in the alleyway before Prompto. Said he was paid to lure Prompto there. He doesn’t remember the guy’s name, but he  _ does _ remember his face as well as the license plates.”

Cor glances at the prince, then at the numbers. “I’ll get these to the techs right away.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things continue to go downhill for Prompto, but the others start to make serious headway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: I received a comment (that disappeared, babe where did u go let me love u) that alerted me to the fact that hand+sledgehammer=no more hand, so I am going to go back to the last chapter and change it to the black-haired guy stomping on Prompto's hand and foot, causing them to break. But I changed the upcoming chapters to reflect that.
> 
> tl,dr: Prompto has a broken hand and foot, not crushed.

The man and woman leave him alone a little after the whole stomping thing. He wishes he would just pass out from the pain already, but his body is too strong and he remains painfully conscious until the door to his cell opens.

“You want to talk?” The black-haired man asks.

Prompto doesn’t even bother turning around. “Y’ should know by now…” He says, trying to ignore the pain shooting up his arm and leg. “I don’ know anything.”

The man pauses. “You may have a point. I didn’t think a normal kid could deal with the pain of a broken foot. Especially a shrimp like you? Yeah, I doubt you know much. But you’re also being an asshole about it, so I still get to do fun stuff like this,” The man says, tugging on the back of Prompto’s shirt.

He hears the sound of fabric being cut, and then feels his back suddenly exposed. He shivers, trying to pull away, but it’s difficult when just standing takes all of his strength. “What are you-” 

All attempts at speech go out the window with the first smack of the whip across his back. It draws a line of fiery pain across his back and the scream that rips through his throat is practically inhuman. He’s ignoring his pain in his vain attempts to get away, but the whip comes down again and again and again, opening new wounds and lighting his back on fire. Everything burns and bleeds together. His vision goes grey and fuzzy but never fails.

He wants to pass out. He’s bashing his head against the metal pole in an  _ attempt _ to pass out, but the black-haired man just grabs him by the hair and pulls his head away. “C’mon kid,” He says, “I’d hate for you to leave before you’re done!”

He can’t count how many times the man brings down the lash. His entire back is whipped to a burning numbness, and he can feel the wet heat of blood dripping into his waistband. After a while, he can’t even keep himself standing. His dislocated shoulder aches with the stress of needing to support half his weight, but between his broken hand and foot and the agony of his half-flayed back, it’s just a minor inconvenience.

He stops pleading for relief from the pain at just about the point when his legs give out. He knows it’s pointless, the man’s not going to stop unless Prompto says something, and at this point, he’s keeping silent just out of spite.

Well, also because betraying Noctis would be a really dick thing to do. But spite has a big role in it. After all, he is in  _ agony _ .

Eventually, the black-haired man gets tired, and Prompto’s vision is getting swimmy. “Well, that was cathartic, but I’m gonna need a break. My arm is getting tired,” The man says.

Prompto wants to make a snarky remark, but then the black-haired man steps into view and cuts the knot securing Prompto’s wrists to the top of the pole, and Prompto collapses to the ground, falling on his right shoulder.

The world goes black for a few minutes, and when it comes back, his arms and legs are free, and the brunet and black-haired men are dragging in the chest from before.

His heart hammers in his throat at what’s going to happen, but even though he’s free, the pain thrumming through his body makes it almost impossible to move.

“Last chance for today, kid,” The brunet man says, crouching down next to Prompto’s head. “Just give us something, we can help you. If you just tell us his apartment number, we’ll heal everything and let you stay in that nice room. Remember that nice room? With food, and water?”

As if a flip is switched, Prompto suddenly realizes how  _ thirsty _ he is. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since the last time he drank water, but it’s been too long. His throat is parched and scratchy, though that might mostly be from the amount of screaming he’s been doing lately.

But frankly, his mouth isn’t working right anymore. Because there’s this traitorous part of him that just wants to blurt out what they want ( _ 3015, 3015, His apartment number is 3015 please, gods, let it stop) _ , but yet he can’t seem to form the words to do it.

Ten seconds go by, then twenty, then thirty. The silence is filled only with Prompto’s panting and muffled sobs. Maybe he should tell them something big so they can kill him and be done with it. Everything just hurts so _fucking_ _bad_ and he would rather die right now than have to deal with it much longer.

“Unsurprising, but still unfortunate,” The brunet man says. “I guess it’s back into the crate for you, then.”

If Prompto could move more than his eyelids without his body erupting in pain, he probably would have hit him, but he just allows himself to be manhandled into the chest, barely making a sound when the black-haired man grabs his ankles and “accidentally” shifts his grip closer to Prompto’s swollen foot.

Then his entire body screams in pain as he’s stuffed back into the chest and the lid is slammed shut.

There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his head that being trapped in the darkness is terrifying, and not being able to move should be scaring him out of his mind, but he’s…. He’s just…. Too tired…. To… care….

 

* * *

 

“What do you  _ mean _ , Cor?” Noctis hisses. “ _ I’m _ the one who got you all the leads.  _ I’m _ the one who’s been doing the most for Prompto since  _ you _ are so shit at your job!” 

Cor is silent as Noctis rages on.

“I mean, if it had been left to  _ you _ , what would have happened? Would you even have found  _ when _ he was kidnapped? No, you wouldn’t’ve. So I’m going with you.”

“Highness, I know you care for Prompto very much. But we are going into dangerous territory. I cannot risk your safety for the safety of your friend,” Cor says levelly.

“But-” Noctis looks ready to use his fists to protest when Ignis rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Noct, do you really believe Prompto would want you to risk your safety on his account?” 

Noctis deflates visibly, scowling at the ground. “Just because he’s a self-sacrificing piece of shit doesn’t mean I’m just going to abandon him, Iggy,” Noctis says.

“And you need not do that. But instead of lashing about with your fists, it’s wise to try your words first,” Ignis advises, then turns to face Cor. “Marshall, I believe we can come to some sort of compromise. You are simply worried about Noctis being endangered, correct?”

Cor nods.

“Then if we stay in the truck while your Crownsguard retrieve Prompto, there is no danger to us, or the prince, correct?”

Reluctantly, Cor nods.

“Then there’s no reason we need stay behind. As long as we remain safely in the truck, we should be able to come, correct?”

Cor stares at Ignis for a few seconds, muttering something under his breath about “preppy young upstarts”, but relenting in the end. “Keep in mind, it  _ is _ still a dangerous mission. Under  _ no _ circumstances are you to enter the residence. If it seems like things are going south, Ignis, you are in charge of getting Noctis away through any means necessary, even if you have to knock him out to do it.”

Ignis nods seriously, but Gladio snorts. “Hey, I’ll be more than happy to do my part to knock some sense into Prince Charmless here.

Cor fixes Gladio with a stare that has the shield taking an unconscious step back. “And you know what you must do, Gladio,” 

It’s Gladio’s turn to nod solemnly. “Aye, sir,” he says softly.

Cor turns around, beckoning them to follow him to the Crownsguard-issue armored van. “We’re leaving in three. Take care of any business beforehand.”

Noctis grits his teeth and steps into the back of the van. There’s already a few Crownsguard waiting in the loading area, sitting on benches and tapping on their phones. He wants to yell at them, to demand they take their job seriously, but he looks closer and sees the brunette’s hands shaking, the red-head biting his nails, the bald one tapping his foot incessantly. 

It seems everyone’s worried about Prompto. Noctis just hopes they’re not too late.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just so y'all are aware, I'm going to be participating in NaNoWriMo so I will only be posting a chapter a week from now till the end of November, since I have the rest of this fic lined up to go.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Crownsguard come across a roadblock to saving Prompto, and they're running out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN MOTHERFUCKERS! WHAT'RE Y'ALL DRESSING UP AS?????
> 
> Also be prepared for pain, lol.

When Prompto opens his eyes, he’s back outside of the chest.

...that...that’s a good thing, right?

Yeah… yeah, that’s a good thing. 

Through a Herculean effort, he manages to lift his head up slightly. He’s still in the room with the metal pole, and the chest the two men had brought is pushed against the far wall. 

“Damn, kid, you’ve been sleeping a while. I don’t think you’re quite healthy,” The black haired man is somewhere behind him, but Prompto doesn’t have the energy to turn around. “Too bad,” The man sighs, “I was hoping to get some flaying in before you died. Maybe amputation? Oh well,” He says, with the tone of voice of someone who missed a get-together with friends.

Despair wells up in Prompto’s gut. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, he doesn’t know if his friends have even  _ noticed  _ if he’s gone. He just knows that if he doesn’t get out of here soon, he’s going to die. Of thirst, if nothing else.

The black-haired man steps closer, then grips Prompto’s hair, jerking the blond’s head up. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me anything? I promise I’ll end it all. You won’t even feel it. Just… a second of pain, and then, peace.”

It’s the most convincing argument he’s heard yet, and he’s pretty close to agreeing, but that’s what the man wants, and Prompto’s nothing if not stubborn. He hates that man just enough to make his own life a living hell just to fuck up this guy’s.

“Nah,” He scratches out, “‘m not tha’ stupi’.”

The man  _ harrumph _ s and drops Prompto’s head. 

Prompto’s skull cracks painfully against the concrete floor, greying out his vision for a few moments. When his sight clears up, he’s looking dazedly at the black-haired man, who has crouched next to his head.

“N-ngh…” Prompto struggles to focus in on the man’s face, but his vision is so blurry and warped that focusing on anything hurts too much. So he closes his eyes. “Wa’er…” He says, throat crackling.

“Water?” The man asks. Then he gasps, “Oh,  _ yes _ ! Yes, water! That gives me a great idea! Hold on, I’ll be back!”

Prompto’s heart drops to his stomach. That doesn’t sound good at all…

 

* * *

 

It, in fact, is very, very,  _ very _ bad.

It has taken all three of his captors nearly twenty minutes to make sure the chest is waterproofed and then to fill it with water.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just waterboard him or whatever?” The woman asks, dumping yet another jug of water into the chest from some sink outside. 

“Yeah, but not as fun,” The black-haired man responds.

“You’re one sick motherfucker,” The woman scoffs.

“Hey,” the black-haired man says with a feral grin, “I never denied it.”

The woman just rolls her eyes. “You think this is deep enough?” She asks, gesturing at the chest full of water. The black-haired man glances over and shrugs.

“Yeah, that should work,” He says. “Drag the kid over here.”

Prompto does his best to twist out of her grip, but the woman just digs her fingernails into the lash marks on his back until Prompto’s screaming and listing to the side.

Then the woman gathers him up easily in her arms and deposits him roughly in front of the black-haired man. “You need me to be here, or can I grab lunch?” She asks.

The black-haired man purses his lips. “Nah, go ahead. And grab me a Kenny Crow burger when you come back. I’m starving,” he says. 

Prompto can’t quite believe that they’re talking about food right before torturing him, but, on second thought, why worry about someone who’s just going to die soon? 

The door to his cell slams shut, leaving him all alone with this  _ menace _ . He does his best to scoot away, but the black-haired man just grabs him by the foot (the  _ broken _ one, the bastard) and drags him back. 

Prompto’s vision swims with the pain, and, though he can’t see it, he can feel himself being picked up by the hair. He has a second to brace himself before his face is shoved roughly into the chest of water.

He takes an accidental breath from the shock of it, and immediately his body rebels. He can’t move much, not with the blinding pain he’s been in the past…. How long has it been?.... His body moves of its own accord, and his shoulder aches with the stress of twisting at an awkward angle to try and beat the man on top of him off.

He can feel his lungs filling with water, that choking, suffocating feeling, as his consciousness starts to fade. He starts to hope that maybe he’ll die now.

Just as he thinks that he’s dragged out of the water, and someone’s pressing on his chest,  _ slamming _ down until the water bubbles painfully out of his throat again. He tries to keep the water down, so he can just fucking  _ die _ , but the man jerks Prompto’s head to the side and lets the water spew out.

Prompto takes in ragged, gasping breaths for as long as he’s allowed before the man grips him by the hair again and dunks him under.

 

* * *

 

Prompto’s passed out at least five times now, if the lack of oxygen hasn’t gotten to his brain already and made him forget. Each time, the black-haired man forces him back to consciousness. Around the third or fourth time, Prompto wakes up with a burning pain in his chest. The man had said that fractured ribs are just a byproduct of CPR. Prompto’s not quite sure if it is an accident or not, but before he can complain, he’s dunked under until unconsciousness takes him once more.

When the man finally gets tired of Prompto’s weak reactions, he just lets Prompto lay there. “So, not even, like, a locker combination? Something  _ super _ small like that. Don’t even need to know the locker number. Just the combination.”

_ 36-26-18 _ The numbers flash in his mind, and it takes almost all his self-control not to blurt it out. He  _ can’t _ let these men win,  _ can’t _ let them hurt Noctis. 

The man stares at him for a few minutes. “Well, you’re certainly a stupid one. You could be lying in a nice comfy bed, all healed up. All it would take is a stupid fucking locker combination.”

“Yea’...” Prompto agrees, “‘m pree’y stu’i’,” He manages to mumble. 

The man laughs down at him. “You got spunk, kid. I like that. Would’ve really liked to cut you into pieces…” he says wistfully. Then his eyes narrow and he gives Prompto a thin smile. “But you know what? I’ve got an even better idea. You must be pretty wet and cold from the water, right? Let’s light a little fire to get you warm.”

That sounds too nice to be true, in Prompto’s mind, and of course it is. The man pulls a lighter out from his pocket and crouches by Prompto’s pants, which had mostly been spared from getting wet.

Prompto tried to kick out at the man but just ends up screaming in pain as the man catches his leg easily and presses his broken foot into the ground.

“Now, now…” The man sighs, “That’s not very nice.” 

Before Prompto can retort that he’s just returning the favor, the black-haired man flicks his thumb across the wheel and holds the flame against Prompto’s pants.

All rational thought goes out the window as the flames lick at his knees and spread outward, down his shins and up his thighs. His immediate thought is to roll on the ground and pat the flames out, but before he can even  _ attempt _ to implement it, his arms are pinned at his sides by the wrists.

The skin under his clothes starts to get hot, painfully so, then blinding pain erupts in its place. He’s screaming so loud he’s pretty sure he won’t have vocal chords anymore, but hell if he cares right now. All he cares about is the white-hot agony ripping his legs into shreds.

His vision goes hazy after only several seconds, and then what seems like an eternity later, he finally falls unconscious.

 

* * *

 

Noctis wrings his hands nervously, glancing out the bulletproof windows of the Crownsguard-issue van. Cor and his team went into the house where the white van had been registered a couple minutes ago, and he hasn’t heard a sign of a struggle. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? 

He’s about ready to burst out of the door himself when Cor emerges from the house, face grim.

“What happened? Where’s Prompto?” Noctis demands the second Cor opens the back of the van. 

“He’s not here,” Cor says. “But there are live-feed security cameras. One of our tech guys is tracking the source now, so hopefully the people who have Prompto are on the other end.”

Just then, the brunette from earlier rushes over to them, waving a phone and yelling, “I got a lock, sir! They’re about twenty minutes southwest of here!” She jumps into the back of the van, breathless, as the rest of the Crownsguard pile is after her. 

With a nod, Cor gets in place, giving the driver the location. 

_ Soon, _ Noctis promises,  _ Soon we’ll be there, Prompto _ .

 

* * *

 

Jaraka runs her fingers through her hair. “Fuck,” she hisses. “Laurent, we gotta go, Crownsguard found the hidden cameras. They’ll be on us soon.” 

Laurent sighs. “A shame we didn’t get to finish our mission. But as long as Glauca comes through with those ferry tickets, it shouldn’t matter. If Baritus hasn’t killed the kid already, then their first priority will be getting him to a hospital. That will give us time to get to Galdin.”

With that, Laurent leaves to tell his partner to hurry it up. After all, the black-haired kid tends to like overdoing it a bit and gets caught up in the euphoria of torture.

He smells the stench of burning flesh from down the hall and groans. Did that asshole  _ burn _ the damn kid? Better not have been the whole thing. 

Luckily, he sees the blond mostly un-burned, save for his blistered legs. Overall, better than expected.

“Oh, hey Laurent. Sorry, this kid was being an ass, wanted to have a bit of fun,” Baritus says. 

“I understand. But we need to get going. The Crownsguard will be here soon. Finish up, then let’s go.”

Before Baritus can respond, a faint coughing sound draws their attention to the blond sprawled out on the floor. 

The kid’s eyes slit open, and he looks blearily from Laurent to Baritus. “Fuck ‘ou,” he mumbles.

Laurent sighs at the glint now in Baritus’s eye. “Fine. But I’m getting Jaraka to drag you out after  _ five minutes _ .”

“Don’t worry,” Baritus says, pulling a gun from the waistband of his pants, “Russian Roulette only takes two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^3^
> 
> ALSO: I'm doing NaNoWriMo starting November 1st, so I'll only be updating once a week. That should take me all the way through November, so, woo-hoo. See y'all on the other side!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Crownsguard track the kidnappers to a different location. Is this where Prompto is?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter than I wanted, but.... hey.

Most of the time, Oswald kinda likes his job. He enjoys keeping his mind and body sharp, protecting the people, that sort of thing. 

One thing he does  _ not _ like is times like  _ this _ when he and his team are being deployed to some godsforsaken mine to try and rescue the body of the prince’s- pardon,  _ rescue _ the prince’s friend. 

Cor has informed them to act as if the boy is still alive, but logic says that he’s most likely dead. He’s been in the clutches of whatever maniacs had him for, what? Three days now? Four? However long it’s been, it’s been too long. If the boy hasn’t blabbed everything he knows and been killed for it, Oswald promises to let Trinia kick him in the balls.

Unfortunately, the sprawling nature of the mine requires them to split up, keeping all radio contact open in case of emergency. It’s hardly ideal, but Cor ordered them to cover as much territory in as little time as possible, so there’s no way around it.

The hallways are decently lit, but with cobwebbed corners that lends an air of “Halloween came early”. Oswald shivers and continues down the hallway. He hopes someone else finds the kid’s body. Maybe someone without a little brother about the kid’s age. 

But then he catches a whiff of something, like pork on a barbeque, but distinctly  _ not _ , and his stomach shrivels up. There was no kitchen on the floor plans they found. 

Shakily, he taps on his comm. “Oswald here, I’ve got an unusual smell coming from the west wing, C-block. Going to investigate now.”

He doesn’t even wait for Cor’s reply. He’s down the hallway in an instant, and as he comes nearer, he can smell the distinct tang of blood. Never a good sign. He looks into each room as he passes, praying that the kidnappers just left a barbeque dinner out… for some reason.

But when he peeks into one room, his heart immediately drops. He swallows, then taps his comm. “I’ve got eyes on him. West wing, C-block, room 23. He…” Oswald tries to put into words the level of  _ awful _ he is seeing. “I don’t think it ended quickly,” He eventually says, looking away from the boy’s body.

There are a few seconds of silence, and for a moment, Oswald thinks that the comms have gone down, but then Cor’s voice crackles in his ear. “Understood. Check for any traps and hidden cameras. I’ll be there in five. Everyone else, keep clearing the area. Non-lethal takedowns authorized.”

Oswald tunes out his team’s responses and carefully eases the door open, checking for anything that looks out of place. The door doesn’t seem rigged to explode or anything, so he swings it all the way open. Okay. Next step, take stock of your surroundings.

Metal pole in front, chest to his right. No other furniture. Concrete floors and walls. Faint wetness around the chest, but not blood. He walks cautiously closer to investigate. The chest is half-filled with water. Was this for the kid to drink from, or did they actually try to drown him? Oswald doesn’t want to find out. 

He’s about to start checking for bugs or hidden cameras when he hears a soft shifting sound. He whirls around, expecting to see Cor striding into view, or an enemy sneaking up on him, but there is nothing. Nervously, he grabs his sword from the aether and taps his comm. “Cor, I’ve got-” 

A sudden noise from below catches his attention. Prompto, the blond kid, moans in barely-conscious pain and slits open his eyes.

Oh  _ shit _ .

“Oswald!” Cor snaps, “Are you-”

“Sir! He’s alive. It...it’s bad, but he’s alive.”

“I’m almost there. Do what you can. Trinia, call the medics into West wing, C-block room 23.”

Carefully, Oswald kneels beside Prompto. “Hey, kid, how are you feeling?” He asks softly, hands hovering over the boy for fear of hurting him. 

“Mno’...” The boy mumbles are barely coherent, but Oswald busies himself with checking the boy’s injuries. A gunshot wound to the left shoulder, coupled with a broken collarbone and dislocated right shoulder. Bruising around the chest area. Burns over half of the front of his legs. A bullet wound to his right leg, and a broken hand and foot. They must have left him for dead.

“Okay, the doctors are going to come soon. They’ll get you better. Is that okay?” Oswald asks patiently.

“...no’...tellin’...” Prompto mumbles, “no…”

Oswald furrows his eyebrows, looking the kid up and down. “It’s okay, just stay still, you’ll be fine.”

“‘M no’...tellin’ you… ‘bou’ Noc’...” Prompto manages to grit through the pain. His eyes have gained lucidity, but it’s clear he’s struggling to stay conscious. 

Something inside Oswald clicks, and his eyes widen. “You didn’t tell them anything, did you?” He breathes. That makes the damage this kid has been through that much more impressive. “Shit, kid.” Oswald reaches to check the kid’s temperature, but he flinches away, a whole-body affair.

“No!” Prompto hisses, then hiccups in pain, “No… won’...say…” his eyelids flutter, but he somehow manages to salvage his consciousness.

A sudden thought strikes Oswald, and he carefully scoots back a good distance. “Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” He asks carefully. Maybe one of the boy’s attackers looked like him? Unlikely, but possible.

“‘M no’...” Prompto trails off, head lolling to the side, but still managing to look at Oswald accusingly. 

“Okay, kid, okay, you’re not going to tell me anything. That’s okay. But will you talk to Cor?”

Something in the boy’s eyes shifts. “Cor?” He asks softly.

“Yeah,” Hope blooms in Oswald’s chest. “Yes, Cor. He’s my boss. He’s coming very soon. So are some doctors.”

A few seconds later, he hears the crescendoing stomp of running feet and turns just as Cor skids to a stop. 

“How is he?” Cor asks quietly.

“I mean, bad, but…” Oswald trails off with a shrug. “He seems to recognize your name though.”

Cor kneels down next to Oswald, catching Prompto’s eye.

“...Cor?” Prompto’s voice cracks painfully, but a shaky smile turns his lips. “‘S tha’ you?” He asks.

Cor’s looks surprised the kid recognizes him, but quickly smooths out his expression. “Yes, it’s me. We’re going to get you help, alright?” He says.

Prompto’s eyelids flutter closed as he mumbles something unintelligible. 

Cor turns to Oswald. “Do we have an ETA on those medics?”

Oswald shakes his head. “But they should be here within the minute if Trinia called them right after she called you.”

They lapse into a momentary silence. “I don’t think he said anything,” Oswald says when the sounds of Prompto’s labored breathing becomes too unbearable.

Cor turns to Oswald, then looks at the kid. “Huh,” Cor hums, “That’s impressive.”

The EMTs rush in shortly afterward with a gurney, yelling something about “tension pneumothorax”.

Oswald leaves as they set to treat Prompto’s immediate wounds. He hopes the kid can last to the hospital.

 

* * *

 

Cor does his best to remain impassive as the EMTs load the Argentum kid onto the gurney and start wheeling him out. It’s a bit of a messy endeavor to get the gurney safely and easily up to the ground floor, but it somehow manages to be done.

“Prompto!” 

He hears the prince’s voice and groans. This is another headache he really doesn’t need. “Highness, let the paramedics do their job,” He says sharply.

The prince seems to gape at him momentarily, unsure of what to say, before blurting, “I want to ride with him!”

Cor shakes his head, already moving to climb on board. “He needs a guardian until his parents can get here. You meet us there.”

Noctis makes to argue again, but then the paramedics close the door. Cor sits down in the seat and watches with barely-contained anxiety as the paramedics trade incomprehensible jargon. 

As the ambulance pulls away, Cor thinks,  _ this is going to be a stupidly long day _ .

 

* * *

 

Something inside of Noctis breaks at seeing Prompto lying so helplessly on the gurney. He didn’t even get a good look at Prompto, but it was long enough to tell him everything he needed to know: it was serious. How serious, he wasn’t sure, but he sure as hell intends to find out.

“Hey!” Noctis storms up to the brunette who had tracked the cameras earlier. “Hey, d’you know who found Prompto?”

The brunette looks at him in surprise for a few moments, then points to a bald man pacing nervously nearby. Noctis doesn’t even thank her as he rushes to accost the bald man.

“You’re the one who found Prompto,” He says, nearly breathless from the run. “What was he like?”

The bald man looks slightly taken aback at first, then his face falls. “He…” 

The pause tells Noctis all that he needs to know.

“He looked pretty bad, but he’s in good hands now. Hopefully, he will recover. And, if it’s any consolation, it doesn’t seem like he told them anything at all,” The man says.

“You think I  _ care _ about that?” he demands, worry turning to anger in a heartbeat. “I don’t give a shit if he told them everything, I only care if he’s okay or not.”

The man looks taken aback, flushing a dull pink. “O-of course, Highness, my apologies.”

Noctis hurries back to the Crownsguard van where Ignis and Gladio are waiting. “We need to leave right now. Prompto needs me,” He says.

Ignis sighs and nods. “I’ll have the Crownsguard drop us off when they finish securing the facility.”

“ _ Now, _ Ignis,” Noctis hisses. “Prompto needs me  _ now _ .”

“Highness, you need to calm yourself. Do not let your emotions control you. It is very possible the people who did all that to Prompto are still there, and if we pull out early, we may let them escape.”

Noctis is silent for a moment, but eventually caves. “Okay. But we’re leaving as  _ soon _ as we possibly can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news: I'm on track to finish 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo. Bad news: 50,000 words doesn't seem to be cutting it. I'm only like a sixth of the way through the story at best and I'm at 11,000 words, so.... it's time to kick it into high gear, lol. 
> 
> So sorry if I don't reply to comments and stuff. I love you all so much, I'm just busy orz.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto starts his recovery journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaa sorry this is later in the day than I wanted. I totally spaced it XP. But enjoy the chapter!

The doctors give Noctis a list of all of Prompto’s injuries, but he doesn’t even want to know. Just  _ seeing _ his friend in this state and knowing  _ he _ is partially responsible makes him want to throw up.

Deep down, he  _ knows _ he’s not  _ actually _ responsible for it all. But it still hurts to see his best friend half-swaddled in bandages after too many surgeries, especially considering he  _ got _ those wounds protecting Noctis from assholes the Crownsguard couldn’t even  _ catch _ . 

After too many surgeries and close calls to name, the doctors have said it is likely that Prompto will recover, but that’s a small consolation when he shouldn’t have even had to recover from anything.

His butt is numb by the time Prompto starts waking up. The nurses have warned him that it might take a few minutes for him to regain full lucidity, but Noctis can’t help how his heart leaps in his chest as Prompto’s eyes flicker open.

“Hey, Prom, you awake there, buddy?” Noctis asks softly.

Prompto just blinks lazily, then closes his eyes again.

Disappointment rolls over him, and he sits back with a huff. It’s disappointing, to say the least, to have been here for so long with only the company of the machinery logging Prompto’s vitals. 

A couple hours later, Noctis jerks out of a catnap when the door swings open. But instead of a nurse checking in on Prompto, it’s Noctis’ father.

“Dad,” Noctis stumbles to his feet and lunges to wrap his arms around his dad, clutching at his father’s coat. 

Regis lets out a puff of air at his son’s unexpected hug, but smiles and returns it. “Hello, son. How is he doing?” 

Noctis pulls away reluctantly, looking down to hide how his eyes are bright with tears. “He’s okay. He  _ should _ be okay, but… but he’s been asleep this whole time, and they think he might have mobility issues in his legs and maybe his back,” Noctis is starting to breathe too quickly, and he can’t think straight. If Prompto ends up being unable to walk, that’ll be  _ his _ fault, and there was no way to go back to Tenebrae for healing this time, and-

“Noctis,” Regis’ voice is gentle, but it cuts through Noctis’ worries. “Whatever may come, you will get through it together.”

Gratefully, Noctis nods, wiping away a few tears that had fallen. “I-I know, I just…” he flounders for a way to say what he wants, but he just can’t. How can he say how  _ awful _ he feels that this has happened to Prompto? How can he describe how he wants to tear apart the people who did this piece by bloody piece? How can he-

“Shhh,” Regis soothes, running a hand through Noctis’ hair. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but you’re not going through it alone. Neither is Prompto,” He says. “Come, I must discuss something with you.”

 

* * *

 

When Noctis returns, Prompto’s eyes are half-open, staring at the ceiling. “Prompto!” Noctis  _ tries _ not to get too excited, but gods if he doesn’t want this whole ordeal to be over with.

Thankfully, Prompto turns his head and offers a dazed smile. “‘Ey Noct…” He slurs, “Wha’s goin’ on?”

Silently, Noctis give thanks to each and every Astral that at the very least, Prompto is lucid right now. “Not much, I was just waiting for you to wake up,” Noctis confesses, “Was kinda worried you wouldn’t. But how are  _ you _ feeling?” 

“I’m feelin’  _ good _ , dude. Like, really  _ good _ ,” Prompto says, flashing Noctis a clumsy thumbs-up. “I think I’m flying. Am I flying?”

Noctis bites back a smile. “No, you’re not flying. You’re hopped up on painkillers.”

Prompto’s nose wrinkles and his eyebrows furrow slightly. “Painkillers? Why’m I on painkillers? Where’m I?” Prompto cranes his neck to look around but gives up when his body doesn’t respond properly.

“You… you’re at the hospital,” Noctis says carefully. 

Prompto looks surprised. “Why? ‘R you okay?” He asks.

Something twists in Noctis’ gut, and he forces a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

With a nod, Prompto starts to close his eyes again. “Wait…” He murmurs, “‘M on painkillers?” He asks, “‘M  _ I _ okay? What…” The heart rate monitor beeps faster, “What happen’d? Why’m I covered in bandages? Noct?” 

Carefully, Noctis rests a hand on Prompto’s forehead. “You’re okay,” he assures, “You just need some time to recover. You had a bit of a rough couple of days, didn’t you?”

Prompto looks confused. “I did?”

“Ummm…” Noctis leans back in surprise. Are the painkillers so good that he doesn’t remember anything? He hopes so. “I mean, a little. I’ll tell you about it later. Just go to sleep now, okay?” He says.

There’s a small hum, and Prompto closes his eyes. Ever so slowly, his breathing deepens until Noctis is fairly sure he’s asleep.

Noctis buries his head in his hands and tries not to cry.

 

* * *

 

It’s almost a week and a half before Prompto is taken off the heavier painkillers and placed on something else Noctis doesn’t quite remember the name of. But Prompto’s more lucid, even when his face is tightened with mild pain. 

The doctors say that, though the potion worked on his collarbone, ribs, and gunshot wounds, the burns were too big and too deep to heal completely with one potion, and more than one potion would likely have killed Prompto. All the other wounds happened too long ago for the potion to do anything at all, so Prompto has had surgery to help fix his hand and foot, and the prospects are looking optimistic. Not great, but optimistic.

But, they also say that it’s unlikely he’ll even be able to support his own weight for two months at the least, and it’s weighing on both of them. 

Noctis does his best to keep his attitude lighthearted and Prompto does his best to humor his friend and laugh at stupid jokes or whatever, but when they’ve finished laughing, Prompto’s face drops into one of annoyance, and Noctis can’t help but feel a twist of sorrow.

For his part, he tries to be with Prompto as often as possible. It’s difficult, between school and his duties as a prince, but every spare minute he has is dedicated to being at Prompto’s side.

It all seems to be going relatively okay, until about three weeks after they recovered Prompto. He’s still more irritable than usual, he can’t recall much about the kidnapping, and he can’t help but look at every movement that passes by his window, but he’s doing  _ okay _ . Until Noctis manages to fuck it up all over again.

Noctis has brought in a lunch that Ignis had made, and Prompto perks up immediately. While hospital food isn’t as bad as most of the comedians like to joke,  _ everything _ pales in comparison to Ignis’ cooking.

The meal is going well at first. Prompto is managing to at least keep up a façade of happiness and is laughing at a joke Noctis is telling. But when Noctis gets to the punchline of the next joke, Prompto’s in the middle of taking a drink of water.

Prompto can’t contain the laughter, and he’s soon coughing, choking on his water. He manages to spit it all out, but he’s still hacking up a lung, and his heart rate monitor has sped up from around eighty to almost two hundred. Noctis barely has time to react before a team of nurses burst in with what almost looked like a rolling tool shed.

They bustle around Prompto, checking too many things too fast for him to comprehend, so he just stands in the corner until the nurses have given Prompto a small dose of a sedative and leave. 

He even stands there a little after the nurses have left, because  _ what the fuck just happened? _ His mind plays the moment over and over again: He tells a joke, Prompto chokes on his water, Prompto flips his shit. There’s no logical progression, it doesn’t make any  _ sense _ .

Semi-reluctantly, Noctis sits back down in the chair and clears away the remaining food. Prompto looks to out of it to eat, anyways. “You okay?” He asks, then immediately kicks himself. Of  _ course _ Prompto isn’t okay. “What happened there?”

Prompto looked confused, gaze limping over to meet Noctis’. “I dunno. I jus’... Jus’ got scared, like I wouldn’t be able t’ breathe again,” He croaks. “‘M sorry.”

Noctis doesn’t want to think too much one what Prompto is saying, so he just smiles. “Don’t worry, dude, it’s all fine. Just concentrate on getting better.”

 

* * *

 

Slowly, Prompto  _ does _ get better. It’s slow, agonizingly so, but it happens. Not only physically, but he starts actually sleeping again, he isn’t distracted by every movement in his immediate area. And even those weird phases of time when he feels like he’s watching himself from somewhere outside his body, like the world around him is a tilt-shifted photo, those go away too.

He spends more time than he wants in the hospital, getting weaned onto weaker and weaker painkillers until he’s taking them in pill form. Even after his burns have scarred over and he has been cleared to leave the burn ward, the doctor tells him his foot still needs time to heal before it can bear his weight. “Better safe than sorry,” she says. While Prompto understands the sentiment, he’s been stuck in this hospital for more than two months already and he’s itching to leave. 

At least Noctis and the others visit him. They do their best to distract him from the pain, and there’s less of that with each passing week. They also bring Ignis’ food, which is a definite plus.

But when the doctor clears him to go home at the end of the week, Prompto gets back from physical therapy to see Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio tucked in a corner of his room, talking under their breaths. 

“Uh, hey guys,” Prompto says, wheeling forward on his wheelchair. “What’s up?”

Noctis and Gladio glance helplessly at Ignis, who sighs, then adjusts his glasses. “Prompto,” He says, in that way of his that means he’s doing his very best to be diplomatic. “The three of us were discussing what is to come, and we came to the conclusion that…” Ignis trails off, “We are extending an invitation to you to live with Noctis in the Citadel. His Highness has mentioned that your house is small, perhaps too small to comfortably accommodate your wheelchair. Not to mention the fact you live alone could be dangerous.”

Prompto is silent as the information sinks in. “So you discussed all this… without me?” 

“We wanted to make sure everything would work out before we offered. Now, we are offering and open to discussion.”

It’s honestly the best thing he’s heard yet. Better than the news that, save for some tightness around his knees, he should be able to walk again. Better than the news that he doesn’t seem to have PTSD. Better than the news that Noctis did so much to find him. 

He gives the others a smile. “That… that would be amazing. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ps. I'm going with the headcanon that curatives only work within a time margin of the injury. The whipping and everything before it was too late for curatives to do more than take the edge off. Also going off the headcanon that the curatives just redirect body's energy to places that need to be healed


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things smooth out in the end like they always do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, so this is the end! I'm a little sad about it, but I'm excited to move on to other things!

After two weeks of living in Noctis’ room in the Citadel, Prompto gets used to a sort of routine. He gets up at his usual time and grabs breakfast, answering Ignis’ text reminders about his appointments. He wheels down to the parking lot and gets into the car Ignis has waiting for him. Ignis, bless his soul, never minds driving Prompto to physical therapy. But what surprises Prompto is when Noctis asks to join him after just a couple times.

“Dude, the appointment is at 7:30,” Prompto says incredulously. “In the  _ morning. _ ”

Noctis just stares down at him intently. “I know,” he says, “I don’t care. I’ll be there if you want me to.” 

Prompto’s confused but agrees, and soon Noctis joins him for his appointments without a hint of grumbling. He actually cheers Prompto on, helps him through his stretches, and even goes so far as to supplement his lessons while they’re alone in his room, or even eating lunch during school. Honestly, it makes everything seem much better. He’s making progress. Yeah, his knees always feel tight now, but he can still walk, and he even managed to jog for a few steps earlier this morning.

As a reward, Ignis is letting them play video games for as late as they want. Which means they probably won’t go to sleep. They’re silently waiting for a loading screen to pass when Prompto leans against Noctis.

“Thanks for everything, buddy,” Prompto says. “I-I really appreciate it.”

Noctis goes momentarily stiff but then relaxes. “It’s no big deal, Prompto. I just - I know what it’s like to have to go through all… this,” he waves a hand in the direction of Prompto and his wheelchair. “It...it was hard, and I want to help you through it.”

Oh, that’s right. Prompto vaguely remembers hearing news stories of the prince being badly injured when he was young, and he’s seen the scars on Noctis’ back and legs, but he never made the connection between  _ that _ and Noctis’ enthusiasm for helping. “Still,” Prompto says, “Thank you.”

Noctis ruffles Prompto’s hair fondly. “I should be the one thanking you. You…” Noctis trails off, like he’s unwilling to finish the thought, and Prompto’s grateful for it. They turn back to the game and wait for the game to finish loading.

 

* * *

 

When Prompto finally reaches the “I walked by myself for more than ten minutes” mark, he’s not even in physical therapy. Gladio and Noctis are accompanying him for a walk through the Citadel gardens one Saturday morning, and he has to admit there are worse places to regain your walking ability. But when his legs  _ do _ fail him, Gladio’s there to catch him, and Noctis is there to pull Prompto’s wheelchair out of the Armiger.

Prompto has reiterated that it’s really not necessary for Noctis to keep Prompto’s wheelchair in the Armiger, but after the fourth time Prompto was nearly stranded in the Citadel gardens without it, he starts to be thankful for Noctis’ handy little ability. 

As a bonus, Noctis can warp to his wheelchair now. It’s pretty useless, as anywhere Prompto can get in his wheelchair, Noctis could easily go, but it’s kinda fun.

Noctis and Gladio are wheeling him back to Noctis’ room when Ignis joins them, straightening a pile of papers. “May I have a moment of your time, Prompto? There’s something we need to discuss.”

Even though there’s no danger of not being able to walk (obviously), his heart rate skyrockets, and he has to clench his hands into fists to keep him from shaking. “S-sure thing!” He says.

Ignis must see his nervousness, because his face softens. “It’s nothing serious. Quite the opposite,” He says, “Let’s get to his Highness’ room.”

 

* * *

 

Noctis and Gladio must know what’s going to happen, because Gladio’s trying  _ too _ hard to be aloof, and Noctis isn’t even bothering to hide his excitement.

“So,” Ignis says, sitting across from Prompto on the edge of the chaise. “Are you aware of the Royal Commendation of Bravery?” 

Prompto shakes his head.

“It’s prestigious award typically given to Crownsguard or Kingsglaive for outstanding acts of bravery. But I’ve discussed it with King Regis, and we are in agreement. He wishes to award you with it, if you wish to accept it.”

He can’t quite wrap his head around the idea that  _ King Regis _ wants to give him an award. He tries to reply, to say,  _ holy shit, dude that sounds awesome! _ but his throat isn’t quite working correctly and he ends up gaping.

Noctis laughs, then wraps his arms around Prompto’s shoulders, pulling him as close as the wheelchair’s armrests will allow.

“I...I don’t…” Prompto manages to spit out, “I don’t know. It… It seems like a really big deal. I-I don’t know if I… I’m not Crownsguard and  _ definitely _ not Kingsglaive.”

“It’s not awarded  _ solely _ to those groups,” Ignis says, “It’s given to anyone who demonstrates bravery above and beyond that of what is necessary. And you  _ certainly  _ fit that category.”

Prompto’s still not so sure, but Noctis’ enthusiasm is infectious and even Gladio is giving him a little smile. So maybe a little award wouldn’t be out of place.

 

* * *

 

Scratch that, everything sucks and is awful.

Once Prompto says that he will accept the award, Noctis wants to get him to buy a new suit for the award ceremony right away, but Ignis takes one look at Prompto and somehow  _ sees _ the exhaustion the blond is trying to hide, suggesting they wait for tomorrow.

Prompto grits his teeth. He  _ shouldn’t _ be exhausted after walking for ten minutes. A little while ago, he wouldn’t have been exhausted after  _ running _ for ten minutes. And he knows what the doctors and psychiatrists told him, that it’s unavoidable “after what he went through”, that he’s strong enough to have pulled through this far and that he’ll make it out again, but it still hurts to have to be babied and coddled.

So it’s probably that stubbornness that has him agreeing with Noctis. “Yeah, suit shopping sounds fun. D’you have my crutches in the Armiger, too?”

Noctis jumps to his feet as he nods, grabbing onto the handles of Prompto’s wheelchair and pushing him out the door. “C’mon,” He calls to Ignis and Gladio, “Let’s get going!”

Prompto glances over his shoulder to see the older teens exchange shrugs and follow behind their excited prince.

He is not prepared for the complete aggravation that suit shopping was. He’s used to big box stores, or maybe used-goods stores, where he would pick something off a shelf and call it a day. It might be too big or too small, but it’s not a terrible inconvenience.

Ignis especially takes issue with this. Noctis does too, and Gladio’s ambivalent on the matter, so it’s two against one. Prompto gets his measurements taken. Standing’s always been easier than walking, especially when he has his crutches, but it’s still embarrassing to get sidelong looks from the tailor at the specialty store Noctis brought him to.

Finally, their tailor bestows Prompto with a small pile of different suits to try on. As she leads him to the changing booths, she prattles on, “...and I chose a double-vent suit to complement your figure and the pinstripes will help you feel taller, and the material-”

Noctis cuts her short, stepping between her and Prompto with a more-than-pointed glare. “Yeah, that sounds great,” he says. “Thanks.”

The tailor takes the hint and shuts up, pointing with a flourish of the hand to the fitting rooms. 

Noctis opens the fitting room labeled with the handicapped sign, and it takes Prompto a moment to realize that, yeah, he  _ is _ disabled. It’s weird to be so viscerally reminded in a mundane way, and he momentarily pauses before wheeling himself in.

Prompto offers Noctis a smile as the prince takes the pile of suit pieces. “Thanks, bud, I thought I was going to get suffocated with all of those clothes.”

“That would’ve been unfortunate. I would’ve had to ask someone else to join my Crownsguard,” Noctis says.

Prompto laughs before realizing what Noctis is implying. “Wait…” he says slowly, brows furrowing as he parses over Noctis’ meaning, “You… you want me to be in your Crownsguard?”

“Oh,  _ shit _ ,” Noctis hisses, “I didn’t mean- Shit, I wanted to ask you after the awards ceremony. I’m sorry, uh, but, yeah. I do?”

“Oh… okay, um, I… I need to think that over,” Prompto says, trying to control his breathing. This is so much, it’s too much, all at once. “I just… I need to absorb that, dude.”

Noctis nods shortly, “Yeah, of course, take your time.”

Then, Prompto manages to heave himself out of his wheelchair, scrabbling for Noctis’ arm to get his balance before stepping back. Okay. He can do this. He easily slips out of his sweatpants, wincing slightly as the waistband drags against the scars on his legs. But the pain soon passes.

His shirt is easier. Though his back is scarred up, there’s only minor tension there that prevents him from doing any feats of flexibility, and taking off a shirt isn’t one of those things.

When Prompto lets the shirt fall to the ground, he hears Noctis hiss. “Something wrong?” He asks.

Noctis is staring at him, skin slightly pale and brows furrowed. “I… I don’t think I’ve seen your back like that,” He admits, “And your legs, they still…” Noctis trails off, looking down. “I caused all of this, I’m so sorry, I should have done  _ some _ thing, and now you’re all scarred, and it’s all my  _ fault _ , and-”

“Hey,” Prompto says, “I’m not  _ mad _ at you,” he says. “And these scars…” He trails off. “I mean, I would prefer not to have them, of course, but, like, I also kinda like them? Like, those guys did all this terrible shit to me, but I still stayed strong, and came out on top.”

Noctis is silent for a moment. “It also makes you look  _ suuuper _ badass.” He says. “Like, back-alley brawler.”

Prompto grins and flexes his muscles. “What can I say?” He sighs, “I’m just too cool for school.”

Noctis snorts and shoves a suit his way. “C’mon, dork, you may be too cool for school, but you’re  _ not _ too cool for homework, if Ignis has anything to say about it, so let’s get moving.”

 

* * *

 

The ceremony takes place a month later, which just gives Prompto time to get anxious about accepting the award. 

“I mean, even though I accepted your invitation to join the Cownsguard, Noct, but, like, I wasn’t at the time, so is it still okay? Like, what if people start saying it’s favoritism?” Prompto’s pacing back and forth, nearly ripping his hair out.

“It’s okay, Prom, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Noctis says, leaning against the doorframe. When Prompto doesn’t stop his pacing, Noctis steps in front of him. “Hey, Prom, it’s okay. If anyone doubts that you deserve it, my father will  _ personally  _ set them straight.”

Even though knowing the king himself would do that just makes him more anxious - what if he messes everything up? What if he  _ doesn’t _ really deserve the award? - Noctis’ confidence and desire to help makes him marginally less stressed. If Noctis believed in him, Prompto would do his best to not make Noctis regret his trust.

A woman in kingsglaive fatigues hurries up to him. “They’re ready in there. Are you?” She asks after a quick bow.

Prompto suddenly feels weak-kneed and he wishes he had his wheelchair. He hasn’t needed it for a week and a half, but right now, he just wants Noctis to whip it out of the Armiger because he’s not sure he can support himself down the hallway and up the stairs.

“I… um,” Prompto looks at Noctis helplessly. 

Noctis smiles back at him and nods. “You can do it, Prom. You went over all this before. Just think of it as another practice ceremony.”

That doesn’t really help, since he was nervous at the practice ceremony too, but Noctis’ smile is enough to slow his heartbeat. With a mirrored nod, Prompto wipes his sweaty palms on his pants and nods.

The kingsglaive motions to some Crownsguard standing by the entrance to the throne room, and they pull the doors open.

Prompto manages to propel himself down the hallway. His steps are mechanical. Not because his legs are causing him pain, but because his knees are shaking so bad he’s pretty sure that everyone can see but thankfully, no one says anything.

He comes to a stop on the landing in front of the king, right next to Cor and an unfamiliar man with stubble. 

Regis’ face is stony as he walks down the stairs from his throne. He stops several feet away from Prompto and turns to Cor and the unfamiliar man, picking up the medal from Cor and the pin from the unfamiliar man. 

Then, Regis closes the distance between them. As he was instructed in the practice ceremony, Prompto dropped to one knee, bowing his head as the king placed the medal around his neck, then helped him to his feet to place the pin on his chest.

“With the power vested in me by the Astrals, I, Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII, bestow upon you the Royal Commendation of Bravery for feats above and beyond those of what is expected of you.” The king holds his hand out to Prompto, who grabs it with a trembling hand. 

Regis shakes it once, then pulls Prompto in for a hug.

Prompto freezes. This wasn’t part of the practice, he doesn’t know how to react. But the hug is deep and almost crushing. 

“Thank you,” Regis says, “for protecting my son.”

Prompto returns the hug, albeit tentatively. “Of course,” He says, “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'll be real with y'all, I’m not super happy with this. There was more “substance” I wanted to add, but with fanfiction, I go with the flow, and “the flow” didn’t have time to add everything I wanted, like really delving into Prompto’s trauma while he’s recovering, and I had a whole subplot about the torturers being captured and stuff, that just… didn’t make it into the story because the flow in my head didn’t allow it. Normally, you’d fix something like that by editing, but I tend not to spend much time editing fanfics because it’s so time-consuming. 
> 
> That being said, It’s likely I’ll make a series of oneshots detailing the things I couldn’t quite get to, but not certain.


End file.
